


Callouses and Canes

by starredthought



Series: Kingsman One-Shots [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: After Kentucky, Angst, Blind Character, Disability, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Harry Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starredthought/pseuds/starredthought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being permanently blinded from his run-in with Valentine in Kentucky, Harry has trouble adjusting to being dependent on other people and other senses, but Eggsy is persistent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Callouses and Canes

_Painful breathing. Pounding heart. Trembling fingers. Panic._

“Eggsy?”

“I’m here, Harry.”

_A hand on his chest. His hand grabs for grounding._

“I…I can’t—”

“I know, they told me.”

_Tick-tock-tick-tock_

“I’m frightened.”

“I’d almost be concerned if you weren’t.”

_A pause._

“I’m just glad you’re alive.”

_A sigh._

“At what cost, Eggsy?”

* * *

 

Frustration. All Harry seemed to know what frustration. His fingers clenched the white cane into a fist and every time he tripped or bumped into a table he swore through gritted teeth. He’d never felt so vulnerable. His heart always racing, anticipating a threat even in the semi-impregnable Kingsman HQ. He felt old beyond his years with his atrophied muscles from months of his comatose state.

On top of his physical burden, he felt as if he was just extra weight for those close to him. He found himself snapping and lashing out at Eggsy, Merlin, and really any agent that came too close, even if they expressed the intention of helping him. He was not wanting help. He wanted to be out in the field. He wanted to let off steam. He wanted to feel the kick of a pistol against his palm as he shot over and over. But he would have none of that. Never again.

“Y’know, Daredevil is a badass superhero.”

“He’s a comic book character, _Eggsy,_ ” Harry snarled. The click of Oxfords receded. The door shut. Silence.

* * *

 

Three months into his rehabilitation he felt that he was no closer to achieving independence as when he first woke up. He sat in the reading room, listening to the radio. His hand fiddled with the dial, trying to find anything acceptable to his ears. The door behind him clicked as the brass doorknob turned.

 “Harry.” He ignored the voice. “It’s Egg—”

“I know.” He turned in the direction of the voice. A powerful stench of cheap fish and frying oil reached his nose. “Lunch?”

“Yeah. Got you some fish and chips.” Harry took a few steps toward Eggsy, tapping his cane along as he did so.

“You went out to get lunch?”

“Yeah, I wanted to get off the estate fer a bit for somethin’ that didn’t risk my arse, ya know?” Eggsy’s hand reached down for Harry’s to take him to the table, but he flinched away. Harry heard Eggsy sigh. “Right then.” The boy’s Oxfords clicked away from him. Harry turned and started back in the direction of his armchair, between the forms he’d been reminded [the hard way] to be an end table and a lounger. The paper of the bag crumpled and the containers of fish and chips brushed against the plastic carrier bag as Eggsy removed them. Harry found his own way back to the chair, and when he felt the upholster touch the fabric of the back of his pants, he sat down without a word.

He listened to Eggsy prepare the meal. The battered fish and chips poured out onto the china plates with a clink and a thud. Silverware scratched metallically against each other and the plates. A glass thudded against the table, and a liquid filled it up, fizzing gently at the top. “Alright, Harry. Come on. You’re going to eat over here.”

Harry let out a sigh, and pushed himself up once again, presenting the cane before him. “Left 20 degrees.” He followed per Eggsy’s direction and took careful steps toward the voice. “That’s it. Three more steps.” Harry felt polished wood between his forward palm, the chair. He ran his hand down the cool, smooth back for the armrest and oriented his body so he could sit. “Al’ight. We got fish from 0 to 600, and chips from 600 to 1200. Drink’s a sparklin’ water. Your table settin’ lessons are really comin’ in handy now, Harry.” Fork on the left, knife on the right with the drink above. He reached for the napkin and spread the linen smooth under his palms on his lap. The adjacent chair to his left scraped against the floor and then scooted forward twice as Eggsy sat down.

Harry took his knife and fork and felt for the satisfying crunch of tine breaking fried batter cooked just right. The knife broke through the flesh and Harry blew on the bite until he could feel very little steam rising against his face. He popped the bite in his mouth and felt the juices from the meat cover his tongue as he chewed. He eat deliberately and did not go to cut another bite until he’d swallowed. “This is delicious Eggsy.” He heard the boy set down both pieces of silverware on the edges of the china. He was sure that it was the first positive comment to pass his lips since Kentucky.

* * *

 

Another month later Harry had returned to his flat. He needed to be away from the agents, though Eggsy insisted on going to “keep him company”. Every time he heard of a mission, an arrow of envy pierced his chest. His fingers itched for a pistol. His umbrella was just that, a foreign tool that protected him from pellets of rain instead of those of a shotgun. He needed to relearn the location of everything in his home. The stairs proved a huge task, and falling down them was one of Harry’s biggest fears, so he committed their location to memory soon after arriving.

A week after he moved back, Harry attempted to cook for himself for the first time, and nearly set the flat on fire when he turned on an extra burner instead of setting the timer dial. Eggsy pushed on Harry’s chest to get him out of the way. He fell onto the tile floor and banged his head on the cabinetry. Normally he would have been gentler with Harry, but he’d take a bruised head over a scorched face any day.

Eggsy supervised cooking from then on. It was not unusual in the beginning for him to stand behind Harry, taking the man’s hands in his own to guide them through making simple meals like pancakes and chicken breasts on the stove. Harry felt the boy’s breath, warm like a high summer breeze on his neck as it mixed with the heat from the stovetop. The boy’s toned chest rested against Harry’s once sculpted back, each inhalation pressing his pectorals into the base of Harry’s scapulas. He could smell his cologne, recognizing it as the brand he used, potent but understated. Eggsy’s hands had calloused over from his work, rough around the meat of his palm and his joints, but his handling remained tender like holding a baby.

Every once and a while their cheeks would brush against each other. “Just because I can’t inspect you does not mean that you can go more than a day without shaving, Eggsy.”

* * *

 

He taught Eggsy how to use a straight razor. In truth, Harry had been shaving with his eyes closed for most of his life, so the transition was one of the easier ones. The metal scraped away the hair and shaving cream from his cheek like flesh on sandpaper, followed by the glistening sound of metal as the razor lifted from his face. Soon enough the boy was shaving next to him every day.

Harry wasted no time when it came to organizing his clothes. With Eggsy’s help, they developed a system that had matching suit jackets and pants as bookends for suitable shirts and ties. His outfit combinations would be much more limited but at least he would always look presentable. He would never go out with a blue shirt and a red tie that much was certain.

With the inability to use a mirror, getting ready too much longer, though he allowed Eggsy to help in the hope that he would “learn something” about dressing the part. Before he walked outside, he smoothed out his trousers, to be sure they weren’t tucked into his socks. He ran his hands over his waistband to count five belt loops beneath his fingers to ensure he hit them all. He knew his shirt was button correctly when his fingers could work through a Windsor knot. With a light touch his hands floated over his hair to make sure that no strands were egregiously out of place. Eggsy would give him the final good-to-go. “Being a gentleman has nothing to do with one’s _ability_ to view the world, Eggsy, but how they see it.”

* * *

 

Eggsy was called away for a mission, and would be away for what could be a couple days or even a couple of weeks. Harry was thankful that he was comfortable enough at home to function alone, but that did not mean that he liked the idea of being alone once more. Eggsy was sure to turn off most of the lights before he left, but allowed for two lamps to stay on in order to deter criminals from robbing a seemingly empty house.

Harry disliked the lack of intentional noise. His flat made more sounds than he remembered. The floorboards groaned under his steps. The pipes bumped rhythmically at night when the neighbor nurse returned home from her shift and she took her shower. The birds chirping outside at all hours became even higher pitched and irritating to Harry’s ears. His neighbors burnt popcorn…frequently. He wished for Eggsy to be back down the hall. He made little noise in the late hours, but it was nice to know that he was not alone in the darkness.

The morning brought business. The screeching of his kettle. The sizzle of eggs and the mouthwatering, juicy aroma of ham in a frying pan. The hug of steam from his teacup surrounding his face. A soft and fuzzy fleece blanket stretched over his lap as he listened to an audiobook of _Great Expectations_. Wind chimes that he never noticed before gave life to the winter wind that stung his face when he ventured outdoors to grab the Daily Mail.

The widowed neighbor woman, a retired Kingsman medic and Merlin’s own mother, would knock on his door occasionally. She had severe arthritis, the reason for her retirement in the first place, and would make it over if the stars aligned for the day. She shuffled her feet across Harry’s floors and he made tea. They would sit in his sitting room and she would listen to the news on the radio like she had done in her childhood during World War 2. Her eyes were too far gone to read the words on the paper without straining herself. She would weaved stories of Merlin’s childhood to put a smile on Harry’s stoic face, his cheeks stretched from disuse of his zygomaticus major muscle over the last months. Her voice crackled like an old record but her laugh was rich and full of light. It distracted him from Eggsy’s notable absence, and the worry that surrounded it like a choking black cloud, whose existence Harry wished to deny.

* * *

 

Three and a half weeks passed. Harry sat on the edge of his bed, half undressed. His concern made gravity feel heavier on his shoulders like two sacks of flour and he felt that he could not stand. He kept himself from checking in with Merlin and tried to tell himself that no news was good news. He breathed in and out. In and out, feeling the air travel through his nostrils, down his trachea and into the alveoli in the base of his lungs. He laid back, his legs still hanging off the edge of the bed. In and out. Weights on his chest. In and out. Weights on his eyelids. In and out. In…and out. In…and…

He awoke with a start with he felt a shift in his bed. He gasped painfully—mouth, trachea, alveoli—and turned toward the shift in weight. Two calloused palms cradled his face. “Eggsy…” he exhaled. He reached up and felt for the boy’s face, which was smoothly shaven but with stubble threatening to grow in. His hands rushed to Eggsy’s hair, still filled with product and neatly styled until his fingers broke through spray and mussed it up.

“Harry, you’re half dressed. You al’ight?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He reached out and felt for Eggsy’s shoulders. He was still wearing his suit. The pads of his fingers felt the fine pinstripes. His first bespoke suit.

Harry’s hands wandered down to the buttons of his suit. “Lesson number 3. Unbutton your suit jacket when you take a seat.” His nimble fingers slipped the brass button through the hole and he guided the fabric from Eggsy’s shoulders. Eggsy’s hands rested on Harry’s shoulders and mimicked the movement, his callouses rubbing against his bare biceps.

Two mouths. Two tracheas. Two sets of lungs. In and out. In and out.

“A Windsor knot,” Harry observed as he gripped the tie. “Good choice.” One that he knew forwards _and backwards._ The silk glided over his fingers at his command until he hear the subtle _skit skiiit_ of it sliding through Eggsy’s collar. Eggsy took Harry’s hands and put them at the base of his Adam’s apple, helping him along as each button _popped_ through the button hole, one by one down the front of his chest. Tremors plagued him the closer he got to Eggsy’s waistband, feeling a warmth swell up near his own. He swallowed painfully and his breath hitched in his throat like a tumor.

In and out. In and out. I—In and out.

Eggsy’s chest was tough beneath Harry’s palms. Toned. Young. Broad. His heart beat strong and fast and Eggsy’s entire form shook as Harry’s hands wandered down to his hips. Eggsy’s breath shook and his right hand reached around to the small of Harry’s back, which sent a pleasurable tingling up his spine that arched his back toward Eggsy. His head inched forward slowly as he fidgeted with his legs. Their breath mixed into one. The comforting smell of cologne reached Harry’s nose, made stronger by Eggsy’s increased pulse rate.

Their lips brushed against each other for a brief moment, close enough that Harry felt the wetness of Eggsy’s tongue as he licked his lips in anticipation. Leaning in cautiously, two sets of lips connected, first with restraint before both of them fell full in. Eggsy breathed his name into his mouth, and Harry savored the taste of it, tinged with mint and the bite of whiskey. Harry’s chest fluttered as he drank in all of Eggsy, from his warm and sweating chest against Harry’s own, to the urgency of his breath, and the creamy scent of hair mousse. He melted under his touch.

Eggsy’s lips travelled down Harry’s neck, pressing against his pulse and down his bare chest. Combined with the sensation of Eggsy’s fingers running up and down Harry’s hips like they were the keys of a piano, he surrendered and laid back on the bed. He could feel Eggsy’s presence over him, elbows and forearms supporting him over Harry. “You al’ight?” he asked between pants.

Harry’s chest felt empty and his lips yearned for another go. He was worked up and sweating from endorphins instead of adrenaline. He could feel his pulse pounding from his temples to his toes, and yet he was paralyzed. There was whiskey and mint and sweat and mousse. Wool and hair and linen and flesh. Breathing and rustling and creaking and whispers. Eggsy and Harry and Eggsy and Harry. The world had opened up and shown itself to Harry for the first time, vivid and full of life and goodness. He reached up for Eggsy’s cheeks, feeling his eyes well up with tears of overwhelming joy.

“Yes. And you are radiant tonight, Eggsy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! This was really an exercise in learning how to write without relying on sight. Kudos and comments are adored!


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